untitled
by danniblaze
Summary: Random Trainspotting story. Hint of Football factory, in it.


"Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family, Choose a fucking big television, Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Well, I chose not to choose life: I chose something else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who need reasons when you've got heroin?"

BEEP. BEEP.

Sharp pain as something whacks my mouth, I groggily open my eyes. Sick boy's foot is right in front of my face. For a minute I dont know where I am, my still asleep brain is trying to work out who has the stupid pink wallpaper with Minnie Mouse on. What the hell made that noise? I look around the room, no furniture apart from a set of draws with an ancient black TV sitting on top. Me and Sickboy are lying on a mattress that smells suspiciously like piss, does feel a little damp actually.

My hand hits an empty Fosters can as I stretch. Theres a pair of legs hanging out of an inbuilt wardrobe that I didnt notice before. Dark blue skinny jeans with one white trainer on, I think it's Spud. I have no idea how much I drank last night, my head feels like a gorilla is playing In the Air tonight on drums.

_Alice._ Thats it! Its Alice's house, this was her daughters room before she was taken off her by the social. The night is slowly coming back to me. Alice sobbing to me about her daughter and those bastards at the social, drinking all those Fosters can, those pills that tasted like hairspray, Sickboy throwing up outside, Begbie smashin' some poor sod over the head with a bottle. Typical night. I wonder what happened to Begbie? Hopefully in a cell somewhere.

Sickboys shifting around, Uh...Rents, What time is it?. I look down at my watch. Two, I tell him. Sickboy mumbles something incohorent and rolls onto his side. I get up heading towards the bathroom. More people passed out on the stairs, I boot a bottle of strongbow out my way and open the bathroom door. Damn it, someones got their head stuck in the toilet. Not that I've never woken up like that mind you. There's even someone in the bath. Wild night.

I'm back in the pink room, theres a syringe lying near Sickboy. I pick it up placing it on the draws, thats why I never shoot up at house partys, you dont know whos your using. My best mate Tommy caught the big A but actually ended up dying from toxomoplosis last year. Ever since then I'm even more careful and vigilant. I like to think I've cut down, seen as my best friend died becuase of the habit, but who am I kidding? Things are so much easier when you've got an honest and sincere drug habit. All those little things in life, girlfriends, boyfriends, jobs, houses, tax, mortgages, really don't matter. Maybe I'm just a coward and can't face life. Whatever.

Spud sits up, rubbing his face. He looks bad, all pale with bags under his eyes. My phone's vibrating, don't recognize the number. Renton, what time is it? Spud asks. What am I, a walking watch? Its nearly ten past two, I say. Spud Yawns, Weren't we supposed to go to that interview today at one? Crap. Yeah, I forgot 'bout that, I tell him. Spud shakes his head and stands up. It'll be okay, just make up some excuse, he says. I nod. I hope they don't stop my giro, it's conditional as long as I attend the job interviews they set up. Then again me, Spud, Sickboy, Begbie, Vic, and even Tommy did, claim giro at different addresses. Gives me a buzz cheating the government out of money.

I kick Sickboy lightly in the side, Get up sleeping beauty, I poke him with my foot, then start to shake him. He sits up waving me off, I'm up, he groans. Get your shoes on, I tell him. Spud finds his trainers, throwing them at him. Once Sickboy had manged to put his trainers on, the three of us made our way outside. Normal english weather, freezing, cloudy and no sun. We all zip our jackets up, Sickboy tightning his scarf around his neck. I told him he looked gay in that the first day he bought it, doesn't seem to deter him though. He just doesn't realise how stupid he looks.

We ended up in town, drinking bottles of water in a cafe, curing our dry mouth and hopefully getting rid of our hangovers. So what you boys doing today? Sickboy asks. Spud shrugs and looks out the window. What are you doing? I ask Sickboy. Sickboy smiles that arrogant little smile of his, I'm meeting the lovely Anna. I roll my eyes joining Spud in looking out the window. People swarming all over, getting to their jobs, their partners, their terraced houses with their central heating. I turn back to Sickboy who is checking out a waitress, bending over. I finish my bottle and stand up, I'm off, I'll see you guys laters. Sickboy nods, Spud goes, Later Rents.

Before I head home I walk into the train station to find Forrester, a local drug dealer. I find him on a matrress, reading a porno, fag hanging out of his mouth. He looks up, Ah Rents my man. Got summat for ya, custom designed for ya needs. He hands me a suppositry. What the hell? I ask, I want a hit! He shrugs, Take it or leave it man. I sigh and do the deed, I smile falsely at him, For all the good it'll do me, I may as well stick it up my ass. He shrugs again, looking back at his magazine. I leave it to him.

I'm heading back home, when a massive cramp hits me, doubling me over. I run into a pub straight to the toilet. I didn't realise that I had ran into a pub heaving with football hooligans. I'm washing my hands as three guys walk in, they are mid - conversation, talking about when they cracked some guys head in for getting lippy. I wipe my hands quickly on my jeans wanting to get the hell out. 'Old on,boy, one of them says. I turn to look. This guys big like Arnold Schwarzneggar big, he's wearing an expensive looking suit, black hair slicked back. Whats ya name? he asks, he sounds slighlty foreign, italian, french, who the hell cares? Rents, I tell him. I'm amazed at how calm my voice sounds.

You ever 'erd of a geezer called Sickboy?. God, what's he done this time? I tell him I haven't, after all he is a mate. Really? he asks, 'coz I've seen you hanging around with him, your Mark Renton, you two are as thick as thieves, and that Murphy boy. His goons snicker. I face them both and before I can stop myself I blurt out, What are you two laughing at? Way to go, Rents, get yourself stamped on in a pubs toilets by the mafia. They stop laughing immediantly and stare at me. Their expressions are hilarious, probaly didn't except a skinny scottish smack head like me to question them. Suddenly, Arnie the Don, laughs. Yours two faces, beauitful, he bends over laughing hard. The goons look at each other, where did he find these two, there like a double act. I can't help but say that out loud, The Don guy laughs even harder. They are still looking at each other, confusion etched into their faces, one of them even scrathes his head. That sets me off, I can't stop laughing.

Arnie slaps me on the back still laughing, he nearly knocks me over, Ah Rents, I like you, you tell your mate, Sicky, that Dom is lookin' for 'im, yeh? He pats me on the back, walks out with the goons trailing behind him, looking like little ducklings following their mum, I've got to stop laughing. When I have myself moderatly under control I walk out of the toilets. I scan the room, Dom and his goons are no where to be seen.


End file.
